


Things We Said Today

by winterlyte



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Road Trips, Silly boys being silly, road trip au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterlyte/pseuds/winterlyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy standing in front of him in the nearly empty parking lot is tall and lanky and slightly stooped in a heavy winter coat with a duffle bag at his feet and a backpack slung over one shoulder and a guarded expression on his perfect, pale face and a tumble of dark curls squashed under a dark blue beanie. Don’t ask Louis how he knows the curls are there.</p><p>Just don’t.</p><p>For a moment Louis stands perfectly still, quite literally stunned into silence because what the fuck. Then his lips twitch because it’s a joke, it must be. Someone is taking the piss, of course. Of course of course of course.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Oh Louis. You never learn, do you?</i></p><p> </p><p>~~</p><p>Or, two angry, bitter and heartsick boys go on an unplanned road trip together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things We Said Today

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first fanfic for One Direction, though I’ve written extensively in other fandoms over the years. I’ve read quite a bit here, but by no means have I even scratched the surface, so if anything in this story resembles anyone else’s words, anywhere else, believe me, it’s truly unintentional. My goodness, you are a prolific bunch.
> 
> Also, it’s all made up. All of it.

//

 

_You say you will love me_  
If I have to go  
You’ll be thinking of me  
Somehow I will know  
Someday when I’m lonely  
Wishing you weren’t so far away  
Then I will remember  
Things we said today 

 

//

 

Now

 

The last day of term is cold and lead grey, mid-December, bare black branches scraping at a low grey sky. The world feels very big and very small at the same time and it hurts to breathe too deep. It’s quiet and still just now, but the wind is rising, just behind the bank of skeletal trees that border the parking lot. Snow is coming, soon.

Louis can feel it in his bones.

He pulls his shoulders up inside his jean jacket. Should be wearing something warmer, he knows, can hear his mom’s sweet, exasperated voice in his head: _Oh Louis. You never learn, do you?_. It’s lined, the jacket, with something white and soft, but it’s not keeping the chill out and his blue-veined hands tremble as he lights yet another cigarette, his fifth at least and it’s only just gone noon He stamps his trainers on the ground once, twice, toes gone numb, wonders where the _fuck_ this guy is he swore he’d be here by 11:45 and Louis just wants to _get on the road already_ daylight is burning and all that—

But, he should have known. He should have known, somehow, because this is his _life_ after all and nothing is ever that easy, not for him.

_Oh Louis. You never learn, do you?_

“Hey.” The voice comes low and slow, from justover his shoulder, and justlikethat it’s all done.

 

//

 

Then

 

He’d pinned the note to the announcement board outside Student Services weeks ago, just to see, because why the hell not. It was a long ride to Barry Hill, three and a bit hours in decent weather, and who knew what it would be like closer to Christmas. Why not advertise for someone to foot half the petrol bill that he could barely afford on his own and maybe throw in some interesting banter along the way, to pass the time. Why not.

Why not indeed.

So he’d stuck the creased and barely legible note to the board and promptly forgotten about it. Exams and all that right around the corner.

_Shared ride to Barry Hill, leaving December 15. Half petrol. Must like Beatles and witty conversation. Bring snacks, preferably something salty and unhealthy. Smoking encouraged. No ax murderers please_

On December 14 he received a text just as he was shoving dirty, wrinkled clothes into his duffel bag, tearing down posters, pulling rotting food from under his bed.

_Still need a ride share? I don’t smoke but I don’t own any sharp farm implements and the Beatles aren’t hideous. References available if needed. Will bring crisps_

Louis stared at the message, smiling for the first time in weeks. All right then. He texted back.

And that was that. Or, so he thought.

 

//

 

Now

 

The boy standing in front of him in the nearly empty parking lot is tall and lanky and slightly stooped in a heavy winter coat with a duffle bag at his feet and a backpack slung over one shoulder and a guarded expression on his perfect, pale face and a tumble of dark curls squashed under a dark blue beanie. Don’t ask Louis how he knows the curls are there.

Just don’t.

For a moment Louis stands perfectly still, quite literally stunned into silence because what the _fuck_. Then his lips twitch because it’s a joke, it must be. Someone is taking the piss, of course. Of course of course of course.

_Oh Louis. You never learn, do you?_

“Well, well, well,” Louis says. He takes a final deep drag on his cigarette. He hopes he won’t cough. He hopes his voice isn’t giving a thing away. He hopes he sounds like the handsome fucking movie hero who always says the right thing and always looks cool and always gets the girl. Or rather, guy. Ha. “Harry Fucking Styles as I live and breathe.” His heart stutters in his chest. His cigarette is frozen between his fingers, smoke curling into his eyes. His head hurts. His chest hurts. His entire body hurts. “What brings you here?” He tries to sound lighthearted. He tries to sound like he doesn’t give a fuck about any of it. He lies lies _lies_ is what he does.

Harry crosses his arms tight across his chest, holds himself tight. “Getting a ride.” His voice is tight, too.

Louis remembers to breathe. Then he smirks. Or tries to. He really hopes his lips aren’t trembling. “Oh yeah? From who?”

“You, I suppose.” Harry’s voice is tight and small. He doesn’t take his eyes off Louis. “You advertised, right?”

Louis drops his butt and grounds it under his foot, hard. “That I did. But sorry, lad, I’m already taken.” He looks at Harry with blazing eyes, dragging that last word out longer than needed. “Some bloke named—”

“Andy Jarvis.” Harry says it quietly.

Of course. Of course of course of course. Louis stares at him. He barks out a laugh that hurts his throat. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Harry shrugs, one shouldered, like he could care less. Lies lies lies.

“I knew you wouldn’t take me if I asked, so I got a mate to ask for me.”

They stare at one another. Louis shakes his head.

“A mate.”

Oh, the sarcasm. Harry nods anyway. Nods in spite of it. Louis looks away. Wrenches his eyes away.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Harry stiffens. He holds out one long, elegant hand, starts counting on one long, elegant finger. _One_ “Look, I need a ride to the exact place you happen to be going, right?”

“Not quite the exact—”

“Close enough.” Harry shuffles his feet. _Two_ “I have money—”

“It’s not about the fucking _money—_ ”

“Ok.” _Three_ “The companionship then—”

Louis tilts his head back, closes his eyes. Jesus Fucking Christ. “Are you quite done—”

 _Four_ “I’m not going to kill you—”

Louis laughs out loud at that one. Opens his mouth and laughs. _You can’t kill a dead man, he thinks._ “There’s always the possibility I might kill _you_ , though,” he says instead.

Harry ignores this. “I’ll sit in the fucking back if that makes you happy. I won’t talk—”

“Ha!” Louis crosses his own arms now, tucks his hands under his armpits. He’s freezing. “I’d like to see you try.”

 _Five_ “I brought snacks!” Harry’s voice goes hoarse in desperation. “Stuff you like, right? Hula Hoops! Salt and vinegar. Completely, utterly lacking nutritional value.”

Louis stops. It’s getting late. He shoves his freezing cold shaking hands in the pockets of his stupid, weather-inappropriate jean jacket and looks down, looks sideways, looks anywhere than at Harry Fucking Styles’ stupid perfect miserable face.

“Whatever,” he says at last. He jerks a thumb at the backseat of his aging, rusty, dark green Fiesta. “Throw your shit in the back and let’s go.”

Harry sighs. Deflates, almost, head dropping, chin against his chest.

“Ok,” he says. It’s almost a whisper, but Louis hears him fine. “Thanks—”

“Now,” Louis says, louder than intended. “I want to get home already, and snow’s coming. Soon.” He shivers. He hates it but he can’t help it.

Harry looks at him and Louis looks right back.

“I can feel it in my bones.”

 

//

 

Then

 

He might be the most beautiful boy Louis has ever seen.

It’s the second week of term and classes are fine, they are what they are, and Louis has been trying to behave himself. He knows how much it all costs and he wants to do well, make his mum, his family, proud, but it’s uni, after all, and there are parties every night it seems. He _has_ behaved himself, though, so far, only getting proper drunk once and only completely embarrassing himself twice. Maybe three times. The incident with the tube sock doesn’t count.

But it’s Saturday night and it’s a party off campus, rented student house, of course, peeling paint and sagging porch, perfect, all of it. It’s loud and bright and booze-soaked and will be shut down in a matter of hours which is why Louis is determined to make the most of it while he can.

Louis has a girlfriend, because that’s what Louis is doing right now. He has a girlfriend and she’s attractive and very nice and she’s into Louis and they’ve fucked, several times now, and it’s everything a completely heterosexual relationship is supposed to be and Louis and very happy. He’s so fucking happy. _Really_.

But then there’s the boy.

Louis pulls Hannah through the crowds, winding past drunk students and horny students and sad, sobbing students and happy, sobbing students and oblivious students and they end up in the kitchen, helping themselves to beer because Louis really needs to get drunk right now and he’s just standing there, peering at a bottle of beer like he’s never seen one before and Louis stops short, literally, and Hannah bumps up against him and laughs but Louis doesn’t even hear her because.

Because.

He’s tall, of course, the boy, taller than Louis because, well, most boys are, it seems. He’s slim, but fit, Louis can tell, even from across the room, with long limbs and a riot of dark curls that Louis would love to run his fingers through and a face that is…well. It’s perfect. Louis feels himself blushing and he realizes he’s staring and _biting his lip_ and thank Christ the boy is staring down at the bottle of beer like it holds the secrets of eternal life because _god_.

Hannah pokes him, hard. “Whatya doing?” she says. “I want a drink. Move already.”

Louis literally shakes his head and starts to turn to her when the boy looks up and looks right at him and smiles, a slow smile that spreads to fill his entire beautiful face and there are dimples, of course of fucking course there are dimples and Louis, against his will, smiles back, just as wide.

_Oh Louis. You never learn, do you?_

 

//

 

Now

 

“SO HOW’S IT GOING.” Louis says this very loudly after they’ve driven in complete silence for almost 15 minutes. Louis has maneuvered their way through the most complicated city traffic and they’re finally on quieter, country roads. Harry has stared resolutely out his window, hands clenched in his lap. Louis has allowed him to sit in the front after all, groaning out loud when Harry had made to squeeze himself into the back with all of Louis’ shit. (“I’m not a fucking cab, Harry.”)

“How’s what going?”

“Oh, you know. Everything. School. Life. Part-time job Study habits. Personal hygiene. All that fun stuff. “

“Fine,” Harry says without looking at him.

“Pass all your exams?” Louis’ voice is extraordinarily loud in the small space. Harry almost tells him to calm down, to talk quieter, but catches himself just in time.

“Hope so.” He pauses. “Economics Is a bit iffy.” Another pause. “You?”

Louis just shrugs, one-shoulder. He has no desire to reveal anything even remotely personal about himself on this little jaunt. “Good enough,” he says. He lets several beats go by. He taps his leg, purses his lips, scans the wintry landscape as it slips past. “How’s your romantic life these days?”

Sometimes he just can’t help himself.

Harry’s head whips over, eyes wide, then quickly narrowing. He’s still wearing his beanie. Louis wonders if his curls have gone all flat underneath it. He wonders why he’s even wondering.

“Why are you asking?”

“I’m pretty sure my ad stated a preference for witty conversation, did it not?” Harry continues to stare at him. Louis smiles, sharp-toothed. “I happen to think details about your love life could be very entertaining indeed. So spill.”

Harry pulls his lips tight and looks away. “It’s fine.”

“Fine. Fine? Seriously? That’s all I get? But that’s so _boring_.”

Harry’s voice is flat. “It’s fitting, then.”

Ah. Louis’ heart squirms.

“How’s Hannah?” Harry asks. It’s so casual, so off-the-cuff that Louis is completely taken off guard for a moment.

What? He thinks. Hannah who? Then. Oh. Oh fuck. Yeah. Girlfriend. Ex girlfriend.

“I honestly don’t know, Harold,” Louis says. “Why would I know something like that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Harry tilts his head.

“Because we no longer go out? Because I broke up with her, for you? Remember?”

“So? You could still talk to her, right? I thought maybe you could manage to remain on speaking terms with at least one of your dumped exes.”

Louis has no clue how to answer this so he simply bites his lip, hard and glares at the road in front of them. Endless, fucking road. He _does_ talk to Hannah, on occasion, actually. They don’t share personal details about their lives, for god’s sakes, but they’re not hostile when they see one another, either. They nod and smile a bit and even did a one-armed hug once. Neither one of them has ever mentioned why they broke up. Harry’s name has never crossed Hannah’s lips.

Harry waves a dismissive hand in his direction and turns back to the window. Clearly, finding neutral topics of conversation is going to be challenging. Louis digs in his jacket pocket and pulls out his cigarettes. Harry wrinkles his nose and sighs, dramatically.

“Again? Already?”

Louis grins and rolls his window down, fiddles with a ciggy and his lighter while trying to steer with his knees. “Yes, Harry. I am still sucking back the carcinogens on a regular basis. That is one fact that has not changed since you saw me last.”

“One can always hope.”

Louis takes a deep drag. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“What do you care, anyway?”

Harry opens his mouth, then shuts it. “I don’t, actually. Except I don’t particularly fancy breathing second-hand smoke.” He pauses. “Not even yours.”

Louis starts coughing. His eyes tear up from smoke and frigid air and the general suckiness of his life. “Well, I reckon you should have taken that into consideration before you tricked me into giving you a ride home.”

“I just thought maybe you were cutting down a bit. You said you were going to try.”

“Things change.”

“Clearly.” Harry shifts. “And I didn’t _trick_ you.”

Louis snorts.

“I knew you’d say no if I asked, as me. So I just.”

“Asked as Andy.”

“Yeah.” Harry almost smiles. Almost. Louis tries not to notice.

The wind whips against Louis’ face and neck and he tries not to shiver. “But, I mean, you haven’t actually seen me in ages, so spending three hours in my presence isn’t really going to give you a good indication of whether I’m cutting down or not, is it?”

Harry turns away. “Yes, I have,” he says so quietly Louis isn’t sure he’s heard him.

“What?” he says, anyway.

“I have seen you.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen you.” Harry sighs. “Around. And it hasn’t been _ages_. Don’t exaggerate.”

“Ok.” Louis stares straight ahead. “Like six weeks then.”

“Not even.”

“What?” Louis is genuinely shocked. Feels like years. Years and years.

“Three weeks,” Harry says, lips twisted. “And a bit.”

Louis looks at him.

“Twenty-five days,” Harry says. Louis almost looks at him. He won’t though. He won’t. Not yet.

Louis barks out a harsh laugh. He rolls the window up, hunches into his jacket. “What, you been marking Xs on a calendar or something?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, fingers twisted in his lap. He sounds sarcastic, but sad, too. “Or something.”

 

//

 

Then

 

The thing was, Louis had known he Liked boys since he was 12, had even kissed one once when he was 15, a quick, shy peck on chapped lips in the back of a car in the dark with Michael, who was moving to Sweden the next day and never contacted Louis again. He’d known he didn’t Like girls like that, but he knew he had to play the game because that’s what you did, right? He didn’t know anyone who was gay, at least not openly gay, and he had now idea how to go about any of it. He stumbled through school holding girls’ hands and kissing girls and flirting with girls while all the time wanking to images of Nigel and Karl and Sam naked and hard for him.

And then there was Jamie, and he can hardly bear to think about him now, tall and gangly and dark-haired with soft eyes and round cheeks and a loud, easy laugh. He kissed Jamie once, twice, tilting forward with the thrill and stomach twirls and Jamie kissed him back, hard, harder and they met after school, walked home to Louis’ house, slamming the door shut behind them with a whoosh and a laugh, pulling at each other’s shirts and grinding into one another with soft, explosive breaths and Louis thought, this. This is it. This is love and lust and everything I want and then one Tuesday he turned the corner at school and Jamie had Tess up against the locker, snogging her senseless and the floor fell out beneath Louis’ feet and his face fell too and when Jamie looked up he only sneered, What? _What?_ Fuck off, yeah? And Louis did.

That night Jamie texted him, desperate, pleading.

_It was nothing_

_Didn’t mean it_

_It was a mistake_

Louis turned his phone off.

It will be different at uni, he promised himself through tears and recriminations. I’ll be able to be myself and experiment and do what I want, but then he met Hannah the summer before and she was soft and blonde and everyone thought they looked cute together and she kissed him hot and hard and he kissed her back because he was sad and lonely they hooked up and stayed hooked up in the fall and that was that.

Until this boy, whose name is Harry.

Louis and Harry spend the entirety of the party together, squished side by side on a ratty, dirty sofa, drinking and talking and laughing and drinking and talking while the party whirls on around them. Hannah gets sloshed and doesn’t seem to care that her boyfriend ignores her for the pretty boy with the curly hair. Louis doesn’t even know where she is for most of the night and suspects she is snogging that Brad guy in an upstairs bedroom at one point and at midnight her friends take her home. Louis gives a wave and a shout about seeing her later though he knows he doesn’t mean it because in the morning he will be breaking up with her because finally _finally_ something is going right for him.

Of course the police eventually show up and Louis and Harry run out the back into the dark, hands tightly clasped, laughter looping up into the trees and Louis has no clue where they’re going until he stops, stitch in his side, bent over and gasping for glorious breath. Harry collapses onto the grass beneath them, chest heaving, eyes closed. Louis watches him for a moment, then falls beside him, arm slung across his chest and Harry stops laughing and opens his eyes and leans up and kisses him. It’s soft and gentle and light as air and tastes like beer and whatever sweet drink Harry concocted for himself (Never really liked beer, he said) but then Louis slides a hand into Harry’s hair, his nails grazing the scalp and Harry arches slightly and gasps into his mouth and it’s all over. Louis slams their mouths together, teeth and tongues and short hot stuttering breaths and Louis feels like he can’t get enough, it’s not enough and Harry moves on top of him, hips crashing together and hands moving uselessly against fabric that is suddenly too tight and Louis throws his head back against the cool grass and Harry bites at the skin of his neck as they grind together until Louis gasps openly, white lights bursting and the night going bright then dark again.

September and October and most of November are fast and intense like that and every single second is filled with Harry and his slow, deep voice and his soft skin and red lips and his curls and oh god everything, every day and every night and he permeates Louis until Louis can’t take a breath without thinking about him.

So, he should have known, really, that it would never last, could never last because nothing that great ever does, does it, but it’s not as if he’d ever purposely sabotage anything, right?

_Oh Louis. You never learn, do you?_

 

//

 

Now

 

Harry is squirming in his seat. Louis knows what this mean.

“Harry,” he says. The boy looks at him. “Why don’t you just ask?”

Harry’s cheeks go pink. “I do have to wee,” he says.

Louis pulls over, shaking his head. “Just _ask_ ,” he says again. “What, do you think I’ll say no? I’m not that much of an asshole.”

Harry opens the door and leaps out, stands in the cold wind and fumbles with his hands while Louis looks away and tries to think about nothing. He comes back with a rush of cold air and a red nose and Louis pushes out his side mumbling, “Might as well try, too.”

Then they are driving again and Harry reaches out to fiddle with the radio and Louis slaps his hand away.

“My car, my music,” he says, then punches the CD button with more savagery than intended.

_A taste of honey_  
Tasting much sweeter than wine  
I dream of your first kiss  
And then I feel upon my lips again 

Harry nods. “The Beatles.”

Louis changes it, fast.

_I will follow you and bring you back where you belong_  
Cos I couldn’t really stand it  
I admit that I was wrong  
I wouldn’t let you leave me cos it’s true  
Cos you like me too much and I like you 

Louis punches the button again. Harry looks at him. “You all right?”

_We were talking about the space between us all  
And the people who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion_

“Fabulous,” Louis says, changing it once more.

_You say you will love me_  
If I have to go  
You’ll be thinking of me  
Somehow I will know  
Someday when I’m lonely  
Wishing you weren’t so far away  
Then I will remember  
Things we said today 

Louis sings along, loudly.

“Still listening to those boy bands, huh?”

“Yes, Harry, I am indeed. Love those boy bands, I do.”

Harry almost smiles, but stops, lip between his teeth. “It’s nice to hear you sing again.” He pauses. “I’ve missed it.”

Louis’ breath catches in his throat, painful, hard like a stone. “Well, you’ll have to drop by sometime. I’ll serenade you. Like the good old days.” He means for it to sound sarcastic and jaded but it comes out like a fucking _invitation_. Jesus. He really needs to just stop talking. Like right now.

“Yeah,” is all Harry says. “They were.” He takes a breath. “So, what happened?”

“You know exactly what happened. It ended.”

“You’re the one who ended it.”

“With good fucking reason.”

“Really?” Harry looks away, bites his lips.

“Yeah, really.” Louis’ fingers are white on the steering wheel. His chest hurts again. He really needs to quit smoking. Filthy habit. “In case you’ve forgotten, you cheated on me.”

Harry laughs. At least Louis thinks it’s a laugh.

“I did _not_ cheat on you Jesus—”

“I think we need to change this conversation. Now.”

Silence.

“And you thought this would be a good idea.”

“I thought,” Harry begins, and Louis can see his long fingers clench, dig into the denim on his legs, “that you might, you might have come to your senses by now. I mean, I _know_ you’re stubborn but god, Lou, really? You’re really still clinging to that now? Still?”

Louis’ cheeks have gone red and he just shrugs because he really can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t involve a string of curse words and honestly, he also feels like he might do something really stupid like start fucking _crying_ because he’s so tired and stressed and sad so he doesn’t say anything just keeps driving.

It starts snowing.

 

//

 

Then

 

His boy can _talk._

Late nights and just the two of them entwined together on tangled sweat-soaked sheets trembling fingers tracing lines and bones, contours and shadows. Harry talks, his voice low and slow, telling endless stories or endless jokes (Hey Lou, what does a nosey pepper do? Gets all _jalapeno_ business) or asking why Louis’ heartbeat feels like rabbit’s feet under his fingers (What are you on about? Louis says in the dark and he can’t help smiling. You know, Harry says. When you hold a rabbit and it kicks its feet into your palm. That’s what your heart feels like. I had a bunny as pet, when I was 10. I’m a serious authority on this. Ok, Louis agrees, and kisses him, hard, harder. Ok ok ok ok ok)

He wonders how he fell so far so fast.

He wonders when he started thinking of him as _his boy_.

 

//

 

Now

 

“You’re quiet,” Louis says to say something, anything, to fill the suddenly uncomfortable silence surrounding them. Louis hadn’t planned to talk to Harry at all on this little adventure, really, but now. This. This just feels weird.

Harry starts, drags his gaze from the steadily darkening horizon and the whipping snow like he’s coming out of a dream. He shrugs. “Yeah. I guess. Just don’t know what to say.” He shrugs again. “Don’t want to start a fight.”

“I have no plans to fight with you.”

“Well, you certainly don’t want to _talk_ to me. Like. Just talk. So.”

Louis’ shoulders are up around his ears it feels. He consciously forces them down, rolls his neck a bit. Something pops.

“Well,” he says at last. “You could tell me a story.”

“A story.”

“Yeah. Like. Just something that happened to you. I don’t know. Like.” He swallows. “Like you used to. Just a story. About you.” God he wants another cigarette.

Harry is quiet for a long time. Louis stares at the road and the snow in the headlights and pretends he didn’t say anything at all—

“Okay,” Harry says quietly. “Here’s a story. Once upon a time there was this boy. This funny crazy wild stubborn beautiful boy who stormed into my life and turned it upside down. I fell in love with him and I think he loved me, too, but he was determined to be unhappy for some reason. I don’t know why. Did I mention he was stubborn? Because he was. And then one night—”

“Okay,” Louis says, pulling the last smoke out of his pocket with trembling fingers. “The end.”

 

//

 

Then

 

All these things happen:

Louis gets a failing mark on a psych test and feels like crying and Harry can tell the moment he lays eyes on him that something is wrong and without even asking he wraps his long arms around him hard, presses his lips into his neck and just holds him tight and Louis hangs on like a drowning man—

Harry falls down the stairs and sprains his ankle and texts Louis from the pharmacy and Louis’ heart stutters in his chest because he just wants him to be all right all right—

They wrap themselves up in blankets and watch old episodes of Friends for two days straight and Louis doesn’t get tired of his loopy laughter, not even once—

They debate music and movies and TV and the meaning of life and actually listen to each other’s opinions and Louis has never had someone actually _listen_ to anything he’s said like that ever _ever_ —

“I like kissing you,” Louis breathes. “I like hugging you. I like you. I like being around you.” He sounds out of breath and useless and so far gone it should be embarrassing but it’s not. He doesn’t even care because it’s true, all of it.

Harry presses against him hard, hands digging painfully into Louis’ back. “I like kissing you, too,” he says, then kisses him. “And all the rest of it, too. All the stuff you said. I like it all.”

“It’s possible I like you too much,” Louis whispers in the dark, sweat cooling on his skin and semen cooling on the sheet beneath them.

“No,” Harry whispers back. He kisses Louis on the mouth, sucks at his bottom lip and Louis gasps. “Not possible because I like you even more. I like you _best_. I want to be with you all the _time_.”

Louis laughs, but something cold and hard settles in his chest then, without him even realizing it. Later, much later, he’ll remember this moment, and realize what it means, that it’s good, it’s so good, it’s too god, all of it. And it scares the shit out of him.

Because it can’t _last_.

Everything ends.

 

//

 

Now

 

“No, it’s not the end,” Harry says, twisting sideways in his seat and glaring, angry, really angry, for the first time. “There’s a lot more to it if you want to hear.”

“Oh, I really don’t.”

“That night, the night of the last party—”

“I think I clearly just said—”

“We’d been fighting, yes? Do you remember that?”

“You don’t seem to be hearing me—”

“And not just that day. For days before. Days and days. We were fighting. You were _deliberately_ picking fights with me. And then yelling. And then sulking. Stupid little fights that you would turn into something big and even stupider.”

“I take great offense—”

“And I kept _asking_ you what the hell was wrong. And you wouldn’t tell me. And five minutes later you’d start another fight. Remember? Any of this ringing a bell over there?”

“Not particularly—”

“And _then_ I said, just before we got to that stupid party, I said, It feels like you’re trying to sabotage this or something. And you laughed and called me _dramatic_. That’s a laugh. You accusing someone else of being fucking dramatic! And you said, Do whatever the hell you want. And then you pushed your way inside and proceeded to get as drunk as possible and completely ignore me until—”

“Until what?” Louis explodes at last. “Until what? I ignored you until what?”

“Until you _decided_ to come find me and grace me with your presence—”

“And found you snogging some random girl! Right? Right. There’s the end of your stupid story. There.” Louis takes a deep breath, willing his heart to stop fucking racing — _rabbit feet rabbit feet_ — while wondering if Harry’s going to haul off and smack him. Or jump out of the car. At this point he wouldn’t put either option past him.

“It wasn’t like that!” Harry goes stiff in his seat. “It wasn’t. You were drunk, Lou. Drunk and angry about something that you wouldn’t even share with me.”

“Hey Harry. What does a nosey pepper do?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a stubborn twat?” Harry sounds close to tears now, but Louis could be imagining this. His hands are twisted in his lap, holding on to one another. He’s straining against himself. Louis can see it. Finally he snaps, slamming both fists down on his thighs and releasing an anguished howl. “Why are you like this?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” Louis shouts, his voice filling the entire car. “Fuck yes, Harry. My entire fucking life, ok? I’ve been told I’m stubborn since the day I was fucking born ok? I know this. I know what I’m like trust me."

“Do you even remember what happened?” Harry stares straight ahead, out the window into black nothingness. “I mean. Do you? Really?”

“I remember you breaking my fucking heart is what I remember.”

Harry doesn’t react. “I’m serious,” he says.

Louis doesn’t reply because honestly he’s not sure that he does. He knows what he thinks he remembers. He know how he feels. He doesn’t know if any of it is real, which scares the living shit out of him.

“I don’t know,” he whispers at last, surprising himself. Why admit it?

“Try, ok?” Harry doesn’t even sound mad. He just sounds. He sounds done. Louis goes silent and tries. He tries to remember something he’s forced himself to forget.

He remembers—

 

//

 

Then

 

—another party, music throbbing in the dark, bodies lurching across the front lawn, laughing and clutching at one another in lust or desperation or both. It is late November and cold and grey, the last of the leaves clinging for life in the evening wind. Louis and Harry cross the ragged front lawn together but apart, avoiding each other’s eyes

They’ve been out of sorts for days. Louis doesn’t know what it is, but he knows he’s causing it. His skin it itchy and his heart hurts along with his head and he just keeps pushing and pushing and picking and picking until Harry snaps and calls him on his shitty behaviour but even then Louis doesn’t have an answer so he backs off a bit then starts _again_ with the picking all the while wanting nothing more than to grab Harry in his arms and never let him go.

“Do what you want then! Jesus!” Louis says in response to something Harry says — he’s only half listening — and throws his hands up, literally and walks away, fast.

“What’s the matter with you? Lou?” Louis hears Harry’s voice but doesn’t stop, can’t stop, just wants to get inside and get done with it. He wants oblivion. He wants to not think not feel not hurt. He wants nothing.

And, it works, for awhile. The alcohol kicks in and he shouts and sings and dances and forgets about Harry but most importantly forgets about _himself_ until a tall gangly curly haired boy slams into him, spilling his drink and Louis grins and then realizes it’s not Harry after all.

Oh.

Louis stops dancing. His head is spinning. The room is spinning.

“Where’s Harry?” he asks a room full of spinning shouting dancing students.

No one knows. Or no one wants to tell him. Or, no one cares. Or, no one hears him. Fair enough. He stumbles through the pulsating crowd, starting to feel a bit frantic as he moves from room to room, floor to floor. Where the _fuck_ is he?

But then, he finds him. Of course.

They are standing in the corner, two more bodies in a room of throbbing bodies, dark enough that he would never be able to tell who it was unless he was looking closely. And, of course he’s looking closely because he’s looking for Harry, and he knows the outline of Harry’s body anywhere. He’s kissing someone. He’s kissing a girl.

Harry kissing a girl (Jamie kissing a girl) and Harry and Jamie and fuck them both of them.

Louis squints in the semi-darkness, hoping that what he is seeing is actually a mirage of some kind, that the alcohol is playing tricks on him, but no. He blinks and it’s still there.

He opens his mouth and starts laughing.

_Oh, Louis. You never learn, do you?_

 

//

 

Then and Now

 

See, the thing about Louis is that he knows things. He knows:

1\. He loves very deeply and whole-heartedly.

2\. Everyone leaves him. Eventually.

3\. _Everyone._

 

//

 

Now

 

The snow is falling in earnest.

Louis blinks hard, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark and the swirling snow and the oncoming headlights, few and far between. Harry is still beside him, of course, Louis can sense it, but neither of them speak. They haven’t said a word in half an hour and that’s just fine by Louis. He can feel the tires pull slightly, side to side, as the snow accumulates, as wind whips across the road.

Harry has his arms crossed, which he does when he’s tense or angry or upset or sad or whatever. Louis doesn’t even know anymore. Louis’ fingers are aching from their hold on the steering wheel. His head aches too, from the concentration. He should have taken his contacts out by now, he thinks. His eyes are dry and he keeps squinting to make sure he’s not drifting left or right. The car shudders beneath his hands. Louis eases up on the pedal and releases a huge breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Peripherally he sees Harry’s head turn towards him.

“You ok?” Harry asks over the wind and the rumble.

Louis nods once, not looking away. “Been through worse,” he says, though he’s not sure why.

Harry keeps looking at him, Louis can tell. He keeps looking for longer than a beat before turning back to the road in front of them.

“Yeah,” is all he says.

Louis rotates his head slightly, trying to release the tension from his shoulders but it doesn’t work. All the muscles have pulled taut right up through his neck to his jaw. His head is starting to throb. Once upon a time he would have asked Harry to help, to put those long, gorgeous fingers to good use and push on the knots gathering at the base of his skull, but those days are long gone, so he holds himself steady, every nerve and muscle at attention. He will get them home. He will not falter. His resolve is true.

But, it’s not enough.

Because suddenly they’re skidding sideways backwards Louis can’t even tell. The car pulls out from under his hands, wheels spinning uselessly as traction is lost and the world turns round and round.

“Lou—” Harry’s voice is low and rough and panicked as he grips the door handle, the seat cover, braces for impact. Louis’ heart drops then swoops because he’d give _anything_ to wrap his arms around him and offer comfort and protection but he can’t because the car is spinning spinning spinning then dropping off the side of the road with a wrench and a lurch and a blur of white and black and a hurl and scream of wind and a sudden jolting, bone-shaking stop at the end.

 

//

 

Then

 

Harry looks up when Louis slumps a bit against the doorframe. Total stunned disbelief coupled with the victorious realization that he was right. He’d been right all along and here it was, the absolute goddamn fucking truth right in front of him.

He starts laughing.

Granted, it’s slightly hysterical laughter, and he’s (quite) drunk at this point but still. The girl looks over and frowns, hands entwined in Harry’s shirt, lips red and wet and thoroughly _kissed_ and of course of course of course

Harry tries to move towards him, hands outstretched, legs wobbly because, he, too is (slightly) quite drunk but not enough that he can’t read the pure anger and despair in Louis’ eyes.

“Lou—”

“Who the hell is this?” the girl says, wrapping her arms firmly around Harry’s waist. She even leans her head against his chest, pulling him back towards her. “That your _boyfriend_ or something?” She laughs like it’s a joke and Harry reacts like he’s been slapped and Louis thinks he might throw up but he manages a little dignity at least.

“No,” Louis says. He even musters up a smile. “No. I’m. No. Not his boyfriend. I’m. No one.”

 

//

 

Now

 

“Are you ok? Are you ok? Louis. _Are you ok_?”

Louis becomes aware of cold and dark and a hand tight on his shoulder and the side of his face and a frantic voice and beneath it all, a low moan.

“Sorry,” he hears a voice says and then he realizes it’s his own. Saying sorry. Then another moan. Also his own. Oh.

“Oh god.” Harry’s voice catches, his fingers going even tighter on Louis’ shoulder. “Oh my god I thought—” He sounds close to tears but Louis can’t understand why. Had they been fighting again? No. Not fighting. Driving. Driving and then skidding and then. Oh. Right.

“You all right?” he asks, looking fully at Harry, his crazed eyes and pale face. Please let him be all right.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Yeah. Just. Yeah. I’m fine. I think. You were like…unconscious for a minute. I think. I thought.” His voice hitches. “Did you hit your head?”

Louis prods at his forehead. Nothing hurts really. His muscles hurts, everywhere, the tension still unreleased. “I’m ok.”

“Ok. Ok. Good.” Harry’s fingers brush his cheek once more before he clasps them in his lap.

“Sorry,” Louis says again. He’s slurring, he knows, but at least he’s not moaning.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Harry says.

“I do, though,” Louis says. “I really do.

 

//

 

Then

 

Louis doesn’t remember how he got home that night but he remembers his phone buzzing incessantly for hours—

He remembers throwing up twice but only making it to the bathroom once—

He remembers Harry texting Louis repeatedly, begging for forgiveness, to talk to explain—

He remembers Harry confronting him outside the library, startling him so badly he drops his books—

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Harry’s face is pale and drawn, his eyes bloodshot.

Louis open his mouth, then shuts it. Jesus he’d forgotten how beautiful this boy was.

“I have nothing to say to you that’s why.” Louis keeps walking. Harry hurries to keep up. 

“Lou you’re being ridiculous.”

“Ok. Then I’m being ridiculous. Whatever.” He keeps moving because if he doesn’t keep moving he will break down and he really doesn’t want to fucking break down in front of Harry Fucking Styles.

“It didn’t mean anything, Louis. I don’t even know who she was. She just…she just kept talking to me because I looked sad and upset and _you_ were ignoring me and I didn’t know what was happening.” Harry is losing breath because Louis is walking so fast. “Listen to me! I wasn’t kissing her! She was kissing me and it was nothing—”

Louis stops then, chest heaving, eyes watering. “It was nothing,” he says, voice dull and low. “It was a mistake, right?”

“Yes!” Harry looks so grateful and relieved Louis’ eyes fill with tears.

“You didn’t mean it.”

“No! No I didn’t!” Harry reaches a hand out, but Louis steps back. And steps back again. And turns.

And walks away.

 

//

 

Now

 

The snow is predatory. There’s no better word for it. It’s cold and dark and the snow is whipping hard, clinging to the sides of the car, the windows, the glass. It wants in and it’s angry that it can’t.

They sit side by side and watch and wait and it’s clear they’re trapped for now (Should we get out? Harry asks. And do what? Louis says. Stand on the side of the road in a snowstorm waiting to get hit by a car? We’re just going to wait here? Harry says. Someone will see us, Louis says. They have to. We’re not in the middle of fucking nowhere.) Harry has no reception on his phone and Louis’ phone is dead, of course. He was supposed to charge it this morning before he left but he’d packed his charger and he couldn’t find it and his phone was at 10 percent and now, of course, it’s dead. The car is not moving in any direction and the wind won’t stop howling. It’s dark, dark like nighttime even though it’s only mid afternoon. Louis wonders idly if passing cars can even see them as they pass. If they pass. In the last 20 minutes he’d seen only two vehicles on the road.

Louis can see his breath. Fuck. It’s so cold. He beats his hands against his chest. Like Tarzan. He laughs.

“What?” Harry sighs. He’s leaning towards the window, curled in on himself. He’s shivering., even as he tries to hide it.

“Nothing,” Louis says. “It’s just. I dunno. My luck, I guess.”

“What is?”

“Just being trapped here. In my car. In the snow. With my mortal enemy.”

Harry snorts. “Ok.”

Louis is actively shivering now. His teeth are _chattering_ and he can’t make them stop and it’s bloody embarrassing. Harry glances at him more than once.

“We could snuggle,” Louis says and Harry snorts again, quieter. “What?” Louis says. “Skin to skin contact and all that. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Any old port in the storm.”

Louis doesn’t reply to that. The car shudders.

“Come on, then,” Louis says at last, more reluctantly than he feels. “We’re just going to have to do it.”

Harry pauses and then nods once, then turns and clambers between the seats into the back, long legs tangling, feet sticking. He kicks Louis in the shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says, from the back. He shoves Louis’ hodge podge of belongings to one side as much as he can, gradually carving out a small space for the two of them. It looks _very_ small, Louis thinks. He slides into the back and maneuvers himself between his stuff and Harry. Their sides are pressed close together and Louis can already feel the warmth.

“I know I have a blanket here somewhere,” he says, feeling around in the dark. He finds it. It’s rough and cold. He spreads it awkwardly across the two of them, but it helps. A bit.

“You’re freezing,” Harry says unnecessarily.

Louis shrugs.

“You’re wearing a _jean_ jacket in December.”

“Thanks, mum.”

Harry sighs. He starts to unzip his jacket. “Come here,” he says.

“What?”

“Come.” Zip. “ _Here_.”

Louis does.

 

//

 

Then

 

Louis sees him of course, in passing. The campus isn’t huge, so it’s difficult to completely avoid one another.

Harry walking alone by the library, head down, curls falling across his forehead. Harry at the bookstore, staring intently at the pages of some novel. Harry at the cafeteria, in line for crap food.

Once, Harry is walking right towards him, but his head is down as usual and he doesn’t even notice Louis. Louis could reach right out and touch him if he wanted, let his fingers brush against the wool of Harry’s coat.

Louis opens his mouth to say. Say what. Something. His hand jerks against its will. Twitches towards him.

Then it’s over. Harry’s passed him by. He’s gone.

Louis keeps walking.

 

//

 

Now

 

The zip of Harry’s jacket is unnaturally loud in the small space. Louis’ heart pounds in his ears. He can’t feel his fingers. Harry pulls him against his chest and he goes willingly. Harry wraps his arms around Louis tightly and immediately it feels better. It feels good. Louis slides his arms around Harry’s waist and moves his hands under the bottom of Harry’s sweater. Harry sighs, tugs his coat around them best he can.

“Better?” Harry whispers. Louis nods. They pull each other tighter, arms and legs tangling, breath warm in the cold interior.

“Lou.”

“Yeah.”

Harry pushes his face into Louis’ hair, breathes hot against his scalp. It feels so fucking good that Louis almost moans.

“You scared.”

Louis closes his eyes. Yeah, he thinks. Fucking scared. Beyond scared. It’s freezing and the car is shuddering and blackness is everywhere and he pictures snow growing, building, sliding over the windows, the roof until they’re just a white, shapeless mound on the side of the road, and and and—

“Nah,” he says and he smiles when he says it because he knows Harry will hear it. “Just a little banged up. Why. You scared?”

Harry shakes his head at last. “No. Not if you’re not.”

“Ok then.”

 

//

 

Then

 

This is intense. You are so fucking intense, Louis said once. He was lying on his back, sweat slick and panting and thoroughly fucked and exhausted and exhilarated. Jesus. _Jesus_. Harry just looked at him, unsurprised. Ok, he said, and nodded. Yeah. You’re right. It is. Intense.

Doesn’t that ever worry you? Like. We’ve know each other what. Six weeks?

So?

Louis shrugged and looked again.

Does it worry _you_?

Yeah. Kinda.

No, he said at last. It’s just.

What?

It’s like. It’s really good. It’s.

Harry nodded.

It’s. Too good.

Harry laughed at that. And? Because it’s too good it what? It won’t last? Do you really believe that?

Yeah, Louis thought. It won’t last. Of course it won’t fucking last you naïve little twit. How on earth could anything this good and this intense and this this this last more than six weeks? How is that even possible? We will crash. We will burn. We will throw ourselves on the fire and explode because nothing lasts nothing nothing and I’m not being dramatic and I’m not imagining this so don’t even look at me like that. This can’t last, not like this. Something will happen. Something. Don’t even know what yet, but it will, it will it always does and it will ruin me because it will it always does. Also, I love you, just so you know.

He turns his head and smiled. Nah. It’s fine. We’re good. He slapped Harry’s bum for good measure. It’s all good.

 

//

 

Now

 

It’s so cold. Louis can see his breath but can’t feel his body. It’s odd, this sensation. He keeps his arms wrapped around Harry so tightly he’s afraid he’s hurting him. He keeps talking. He talks until his voice gives out.

“Hey, Harry. Did you hear about the two peanuts who walked into a bar?”

“One was a salted.”

Pause.

“Hey, Harry. A dyslexic man walks into a bra.”

“Ha ha.”

Pause.

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there.” Harry’s voice is quiet and low.

“Doris.”

“Doris who.”

“Doris locked. That’s why I’m knocking.”

They’re quiet for a bit.

“You said I broke your heart,” Harry whispers.

“What?”

“Earlier. You said I broke your fucking heart.”

Louis sighs. He pushes his face against Harry’s jumper.

“Did it ever occur to you that you broke mine too?”

“Harry—”

Harry is talking slower, lower. He’s talking into Louis’ chest now. “Did it ever occur to you—”

Louis pulls him closer, convulsively. It’s so _cold_.

Harry shakes his head. “It wasn’t some game for me, k?”

“Oh Hazza.” Louis is near tears. He can feel them behind his eyelids, at the back of his nose and throat. “It wasn’t a game for me either. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I walked out and didn’t listen and didn’t talk and everything. Everything.”

“I know.” Harry nods against his chest. “Sorry too. Was so upset that night. You’d been acting like you wanted out for days and days and I didn’t understand. Didn’t even know that girl. Or her name. I dunno. She kissed _me_ cuz she saw how upset I was and I dunno. I didn’t even _touch_ her like with my _hands_. It was like five seconds and then you were _there_ and I saw your _face_ and—” He sounds like he’s going to cry so Louis pulls him even closer.

“It’s ok, Haz. It’s ok really. It’s all so stupid. All of it. I’m so stupid. I know it. It’s ok.”

The wind roars and snow pelts the windows

“Harry.”

Nothing.

“Harry.”

Nothing.

“ _Hazza_.” He squeezes as tight as his frozen hands allow. Harry twitches slightly, slides his hands along Louis’ skin.

“Mhm.” His breath, still warm, brushes against Louis’ cheek. Good, good.

“Listen,” Louis says. He has something very important to say. So important. Harry’s eyes flutter. “ _Listen_ —”

 

//

 

Then

 

It’s raining on the Last Good Day, one day before The End. Late November rain, slapping cold and colourless against the windows. They’re naked and wrapped in layers of blankets, their own heat mingling and radiating and Louis’ skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat even though all they’re doing is lying together, still and silent, limbs twisted around each other. It rains and rains, because late November is like that, unforgiving, sad and grey.

Louis can’t sleep and every time he closes his eyes he hears the tree branch outside his window scrape against the pane. Instead he holds Harry and is there and aware and conscious of every moment for once, not an ounce of alcohol or drugs in his veins. He is present and it hurts. He thinks about later today, tonight, tomorrow morning. He thinks about next week, next month, next year, where they’ll be, what they’ll be doing, if they’ll be doing any of it together because. Because. Yeah. His laugh catches in his throat. Harry stirs.

“Wha?” he says. His voice is thick, sleepy slow.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t believe you.” Harry moves closer, if that’s even possible, maybe he’s trying to actually weld his skin onto Louis’, twins conjoined at the groin. Louis laughs again, competing with the rain. This boy. He loves this boy so much.

“How did I ever find you?” He whispers this into the top of Harry’s head. He can feel Harry’s breath hot against his collarbone.

“Meant to be,” Harry says, his voice looping. He’s almost asleep again, voice thick, almost reluctant. His fingers twitch against Louis’ ribcage. It tickles and Louis squirms a bit. Harry does it once more, on purpose. Louis pinches his back, but it’s all for show.

“You think? You believe in all that? Serendipity? Fate? I mean really. Do you _really_ think that?” The question, and the answer are suddenly more important than Louis realized. He holds his breath. It takes forever for Harry to answer.

“Never really thought about it before.” Harry goes still again, then shrugs, slowly. Eyelashes on Louis’ shoulder, breath on his chest. “But yeah. Yeah. If it brought me to you then yeah. Ok.” He pauses. “Ok.”

Louis exhales.

The rain keeps falling.

 

//

 

Then and Now

 

See, the thing about Louis is that he knows things. He knows:

1\. He loves very deeply and whole-heartedly.

2\. He loves Harry Styles deeply and whole-heartedly.

3\. He is a stupid stubborn twat.

 

//

 

Now

 

They’re moving. There’s a bright light filling the space — headlights? Tow truck — and they’re moving. Louis can see a face framed in the bright rectangle of window, fist banging, someone yelling, yelling if they’re ok. Yes they’re ok. Everything is ok now.

They’ve moving backwards, steadily, jerkily. He can hear the car moving and maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be ok after all.

“Harry.” Louis’ voice is raspy. His eyes are sticky. “Harry.”

Harry doesn’t move. His body is heavy and still and oh-so-cold against Louis’, his head rock-solid pushing into Louis’ chest. Louis shakes him. Harry rouses slightly and looks at him.

“I’m tired. What is it Lou.”

“We’re going.”

“Where?”

Louis can’t stop smiling.

“Home.”

 

//

 

Now

 

They are admitted to local hospital and poked and prodded and declared mostly fit and sound and families are located and called and arrive swiftly and they’re released their respective homes, into the welcome, open arms of loving family members.

Louis catches a glimpse of Harry at the exit, his mom’s arms around him, blue beanie pulled down over the curls. When Harry turns to look at him Louis smiles and then turns away.

He doesn’t see him again for 10 days.

 

//

 

Now

 

There are a few texts here and there but neither seems to know what to say, exactly.

_You ok?_

_Yeah. Bruised and stuff. You?_

_Yeah. Ok. Hard to sleep._

_I’m still cold_

_Me too haha. Wearing very thick socks all the time_

_I have two jumpers on_

_We could snuggle_

_What???_

_Just kidding Haz. It’s ok_

_Oh. Ok. Yeah. I know. Happy birthday_

_Thanks_

_Was gonna call but. I dunno_

_It’s fine_

_knock knock_

_Who’s there_

_Cargo_

_cargo who?_

_NO cargo BEEP BEEP_

_oh my god_

_Right?_

_Harry. Seriously_

_Ok. Happy birthday_

_Thanks_

And then nothing for two days.

“Happy Birthday, Lou,” Harry whispers into the phone. He sounds a million miles away.

Louis smiles. “You missed it.”

“Hey I texted. And I was thinking about you.”

“Good.”

Harry laughs.

“Happy Christmas, Lou.”

It’s just after midnight.

Louis smiles harder. “Missed it, again.”

“Just a bit.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you too.”

Louis stares at the string of multi-coloured lights strung haphazardly around his room. It’s all so beautiful he could cry. He turns on his side.

“Is it wrong that I miss you?”

Louis closes his eyes, listens to Harry’s quiet breaths on the phone.

“I miss you, too,” Harry whispers. “So much it makes my bones hurt.”

“Yeah.”

They wait again.

“I could. I could come there. I could drive there. Right now. My parents. They’re out. They went to a party with the neighbours. They left the car. I could.”

“Yeah,” Louis says quickly without thinking much. “Yeah. Do that.”

Harry does.

 

//

 

Now

 

He hears the tires crunch and squeak on the snow and peers out the dark window just as Harry cuts the engine and the headlights. His tall, gangly figure makes its way up the path and Louis smiles, bites his lip, hard. The door is open and Harry slips inside like a shadow. They stare at one another.

“Hi,” Harry says, voice low and shy. “I don’t have to stay or anything. I just wanted. I really. I just.”

“Stay,” Louis says then. He means it. More than anything. “Just stay here until morning.”

Harry nods, like he was hoping but not expecting. Louis reaches out and takes his hand and tugs. “Come on.”

Louis’ room is dark and warm, his bed sheets and blankets in a tumbled mess. Harry toes off his shoes and lets his coat slip to the floor. He stands there, unsure, arms crossed over his chest, watching Louis as he makes a half-hearted attempt to straighten the sheets before laughing quietly and climbing on top of them. Still, Harry watches. Louis swallows, audibly. He holds out a hand. Harry takes it and Louis pulls him onto the bed. They lie like that, still and warm, until Louis turns on his side and Harry kisses him. It’s soft at first, tentative, because they’re out of practice, but they remember quickly, of course they do, because they were so _good_ at it, and it was so easy and natural then. They both lean in then, fast and eager, lips sucking at lips and fingers tangling in hair and legs twining and knees bumping. Louis moves his hands down, tugs Harry’s jeans and pants down as low as he can before grabbing his cock, already half stiff, and holding it in his hand.

“Oh god, Lou,” Harry says and his voice is like gravel. “Can I…can I too…”

Louis pushes his own clothes down so they’re lying half-naked together, up close against one another, leaking and hard and trembling. Harry holds their cocks together as they bump and slide and gasp into each other’s mouth. Harry comes first, as usual, and Louis almost laughs, but then he, too, is coming, shuddering against Harry’s slick stomach and then falling back. He keeps his eyes closed, afraid to waken from this and realize it’s all a dream. But then Harry is moving against him again, nose pressed into the side of his neck, breath hot on his collarbone.

“Maybe. Maybe we could try again, right? Like. Try. Maybe take it slower this time,” Harry says.

“Well we’re not doing a very good job so far, are we?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah. Maybe not. But we could. I dunno. Go on a proper date. A lot of dates. Just.” He sounds shy. “Start over.”

Louis nods in the darkness. His hand finds Harry’s and he holds it tight. He pulls a blanket up over them with his other hand and they lie together, just breathing.

_I will follow you and bring you back where you belong_  
Cos I couldn’t really stand it  
I admit that I was wrong  
I wouldn’t let you leave me cos it’s true  
Cos you like me too much and I like you 

Louis’ voice is quiet and breathy, hard to sing lying on your back after all.

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Yeah.,” he whispers. “Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods against his chest, their skin cooling in the December moonlight. Louis pulls the blankets higher over them and they sleep.

 

//

 

Now

 

Louis awakes once in the night, sweaty and panicky, like he’s done several times since the accident, sitting half up in bed, hands grasping and patting. One lands on something soft, something warm. Harry. Harry’s head, his tousled hair. Louis forces his breathing to calm but he leaves his hand where it is. Harry stirs.

“What? What is it?”

“You know I love you, right? You know that.” Louis says it fast before he loses his nerve. “I love you.”

Harry smiles. Even in the dark Louis can see the curve of his lips. “Yeah. I know that. And I love you.” He takes Louis’ hand and presses it to his lips, then presses it to his chest, then pulls Louis down and they sleep.

 

//

 

Now

 

It’s early and they’re sitting in the kitchen eating pancakes and drinking orange juice when his mother shuffles in, reaches blindly for the coffee. She blinks and yawns and notices the boys. Notices Harry.

“Oh,” she says, covering her mouth as she yawns again. “Hello Harry, dear. When did you get here?”

“We’re just having breakfast mom. Just eating some breakfast,” Louis mumbles with a full mouth. “Harry made it. He made pancakes. Have some pancakes, Mom.” He shoves a plate at her and avoids all eye contact with Harry but there’s no need as Harry is staring down intently at his own plate and shoveling food in as fast as possible. 

“Why thank—”

“Ok. I have to get going,” Harry mumbles through half-chewed food, standing and almost knocking his chair over. “Bye Mrs. Tomlinson.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Louis propels him towards the front door.

“Louis, your coat!” His mom calls from the kitchen.

“I’ll be fine for five minutes!” The door slams behind them.

Harry’s face is flushed red and Louis wants to kiss him, badly. They stand by Harry’s car, staring at one another.

“That was—” Harry starts.

“Yeah I know.”

“Anyway.” Harry shuffles his feet against the icy ground. Their breath billows around their faces, mingling and dissipating.

“I’ll talk to you.”

“Soon.”

“Really soon.” Louis smiles. _Grins._ He shoves his hands into his armpits because he’s freezing because he has no coat. Harry bites his lips. Louis leans forward and kisses his cold cheek, quick.

_Oh Louis. You never learn, do you?_

I dunno mum. Maybe I do.

 

//

 

And, later

 

_I have the car again._

_that’s nice_

_Want to do something_

_I dunno. It’s late. I’m kind of knackered_

_oh ok_

_I’M KIDDING HARRY_

_Oh. Really?_

_YES. REALLY. GET OVER HERE._

_I mean. Only if you want_

_good god Harry yes. Yes. This erection isn’t going to fellate itself_

_stop_

_what_

_I can’t drive if I’m horny_

_sorry_

_no youre not_

_no I’m not_

_I like you_

_I like you too. A lot_

 

//

 

And, later still

 

_Heading back to school tomorrow._

_Yeah. I know_

_Need a ride?_

_Maybe. I still don’t smoke and you should really stop but I definitely won’t kill you and I’ll let you know when I need to wee. The Beatles are pretty awesome. I am a good snuggler and know how to survive roadside near catastrophes. References available if needed. Will bring more crisps if you want. And me._

Louis smiles. He _grins_.

_It’s Harry, by the way_

 

//

 

_Title, summary and song lyrics all courtesy of The Beatles._


End file.
